


Gamblers and Gauntlets

by EmSonderling



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Captain Carter - Freeform, F/M, Feels, Fix-It, Meet-battle instead of meet-cute, Multiple Universes Colliding, Peggy Carter as Captain America, the author thinks that time travel is a copout and if the russos really wanted a Steggy Endgame, the least they could have done is DELIVER on the premise of multiple timelines/universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23890612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmSonderling/pseuds/EmSonderling
Summary: Endgame fix-it, Steggy with no time travel shenanigans, and some small meditations on Steve Rogers: obsessive gambler.Oh, and Captain Carter is a thing :)(Listen, all the memes about the *actual* implications of Steve going back in time for that last dance kinda ruined it for me + Peggy as Cap fan art + a brainwave solution that would've taken TWO MINUTES of screen time and not had Steve abandon his last two meaningful relationships in the present = me snapping and writing this fic.)
Relationships: (IMPLIED), Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Gamblers and Gauntlets

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, I know this is longggggg overdue (considering the fact that I conceived of it on the car ride home from the theater. Was that only a year ago? it feels like 20.)
> 
> Still, I hope it brings some joy/catharsis to read! 
> 
> *I do want to caveat that I don't think timey wimey shenanigans are an inherently bad trope, just that it reaalllly didn't work for me in the context of Endgame. Enjoy!

Just after the Battle of New York (half a lifetime ago in Steve’s increasingly ridiculous existence), the NYPD had approached SHIELD with an offer regarding Captain America. 

One week later, star-spangled posters appeared across every billboard, subway sign, and even—to Steve’s eternal embarrassment—the side of Stark Tower. (Tony had personally commissioned that particular monument of humiliation, crowing as Steve’s ears steamed when it was presented.)

The image itself: a cowled Steve scowling patriotically, gleaming shield (“And that jawline!” “Shut up, Tony.”) polished to a blinding sheen with the same oily grease that kept the machine of American capitalism running.

(“Never took you for a Communist, Cap. Oh, what would McCarthy say?”

“Guess Howard never mentioned my Union days.”

*spluttering*)

Beneath Steve’s graven image blared the words:

**CAPTAIN AMERICA WANTS YOU TO BE SAFE!**

**Stick to the rules. You never get a second chance to be cautious.**

A few emergency numbers and safety tips were listed below.

When Steve first saw the posters, he could _hear_ a Bucky-ish voice cackling from beyond the grave. After all, Captain America had become the _literal_ poster boy for caution…

...while Steve Rogers had always been, and would remain, an incurable gambler.

The Bucky-voice in Steve’s head kept a long list of his reckless behavior. Lying on military enlistment forms. Finding a fight in every back alley from Bushwick to Queens. Walking home in the snow, in December, the _long_ way, when he weighed 90 lbs soaking wet. Volunteering for sci-fi experiment injections. Azzano. Running straight into a HYDRA base. Crashing the Valkyrie…

...etc., etc., ad nauseum. 

It was around the time he started jumping out of planes without a parachute that Steve realized he miiiiiiiiight just have a problem. Technically speaking, Steve didn’t have what a psychologist’s DSM-5 would consider an actual gambling disorder—Bruce had even pulled out his copy to check, at Tony’s behest. What Steve _did_ have, according to Everyone, was a complete inability to stop taking risks. 

(“Cap, if you keep living like there’s nothing left to lose, eventually there won’t be.”

“That’s the difference between us, Tony.”

“What?”

“I’ve already lost it. And I know I’m not getting it back.”

“There’s always something more to lose, Cap. I thought you’d know _that_ , by now.”) 

Steve _didn’t_ have Problem Gambling Disorder. When life handed him a problem, he simply calculated, contemplated, and then made a move based on the odds he saw. As Natasha put it: 

“You’re a brilliant tactician, Steven—in that you have a tendency to wind up in situations when all the odds are against you, and say ‘no.’

“And by saying ‘no,’ I mean you punch up until you can’t anymore.”

Steve had appreciated this assessment, especially given the fact that the odds _always_ felt stacked against him. 

This, though.

The war for the Infinity Stones. The Snap. Time travel, and all its collateral damages.

The greatest gamble Steve and the team had ever taken—and he couldn’t be sure if they were winning or losing. Even after the portals were opened, and Wakanda, the sorcerers, _Sam and Bucky_ had all returned, there were too many factors still in motion to call the score.

Too many odds to consider, so Steve kept punching. For every alien he took down, ten more seemed to appear, an endless horde of seething claws and slavering mouths. Steve had been fighting Thanos and the Snap for years now, in shattered Avengers’ briefings and rebuilding projects and exhaustive therapy. For once, it was nice to have a problem to physically hit. Especially now ( _Sam, Bucky, the Team almost whole and alive again_ ) that he had something to fight _for_. 

Something he was afraid of losing. Again. 

As if in answer to Steve’s internal admittance of fear, the shockwave of a _snap_ shuddered across the battlefield. Steve’s head jerked up, but all he could see was the chaos of war. It was impossible to tell if the gauntlet had been snapped by friend or foe. Nor what the effects would be—

With an ear-shattering scream, space and time rent directly above Steve’s head. He barely dove out of the way, rolling beyond the portal’s grasp. Similar holes were opening all across the landscape, and Steve could see what looked like bipedal figures dropping from the sky above. Enemies? Allies? 

The portal closest to Steve whined, humming with an intensity that he could feel in his bones, kicking up dust and battle-muck as it spun. As a betting man, Steve would put good money on the chance that _that_ noise was a sign of something big. 

He readied his shield and called Mjolnir to him, prepared for whatever the new threat would be… 

A figure dropped from the portal, hit the ground hard in another explosion of dust, clad in blue and silver and a hint of crimson, straightened into a fighter's crouch. 

...only to feel his whole body shudder with the shock of recognition.

Because

it

couldn’t

be. 

“Peggy?” 

His voice broke, mouth gaping and eyes wide, staring in wonder at the impossibility of her. 

He’d seen Peggy in the casket, seen her in the ground.

This couldn’t be happening. It was a nightmare.

A bad dream.

A miracle?

Then she punched him. 

Steve Rogers registered, vaguely, as he sailed through the air, that miracles _hurt._

Before he had a chance to do more than wheeze in shock, whatever breath he’d managed to draw was knocked right back out of him. A knee slammed into his stomach, keeping him down. 

“What sick joke is this, Thanos?” And god, he’d missed that clipped British snarl, even especially when it was turned against him and not making a lick of sense. 

Agent Margaret Carter loomed over him like an Avenging Angel. A burst of crimson light exploded above them, transforming her dark brown curls into a bloody-bronze halo. Her scarlet lips were twisted into a ferocious snarl, her burning gaze sharp enough to keep him pinned to the ground all on its own.

“Peggy.” This time, it was a croak. Steve wasn’t sure if he was smiling or grimacing with pain—either way, the muscles in his face _ached_ ~~not unlike the heart in his chest~~ ~~,~~ and the vision of Peggy was starting to blur before his eyes—

Oh. Steve was crying.

Suddenly, the weight disappeared from his chest.

“Jesus Henry Goddamn Roosevelt Christ,” Peggy swore. 

Steve blinked. He’d _never_ heard Peggy curse like that. 

The woman in front of him was still plainly ~~bloomingly, beautifully~~ _furious_ , but that fury seemed less obviously directed at him. 

“This isn’t a trick, is it?” And now her eyes were wide, wet, and wondering. “You’re real, damnit.”

“Last time I checked,” Steve’s smart mouth, flying rogue while the rest of his mind reeled, shot off. “But you can hit me again if you wanna be sure.”

The edge of Peggy’s lips twitched. 

A flash behind her—Steve lunged, voice shaping a warning ~~_too late_ ~~ —felt Mjolnir slip from his numb fingers _~~too slow~~ _—

  
  


But Peggy was already whirling. An explosion of silver arced from her clenched fist, lightning crackling in the divine hammer’s wake as she used it to shatter the skull of the encroaching alien. 

Steve could only stare in awe while Peggy wielded the hammer, a practiced, powerful ease in the way she spun and released it into Thanos’ hoard. Mjolnir zigzagged through nearby enemies with a precision he’d never seen before. 

With the hammer taking care of business, Peggy ~~?~~ turned back to him. Her gaze was less teary, more cooly appraising. And Steve finally had a chance to take her in as well—the uniform (almost twin to his own, stars and stripes and fingerless gloves), the shield (whole where his was broken), the eyes that he knew ~~but didn’t know at all.~~

“You’re not _my_ Steve,” She decided, finally, and something in her face crumpled at that realization, echoed by the shard of ice that slipped between Steve’s ribs… 

… because no, this wasn’t the Peggy he’d known, either. 

And he’d been fool enough to forget the odds on the dead coming back to life.

Still, she stood there, molten eyes bright with ferocity and confusion and pain, smeared with battle-gore that couldn’t quite obscure the glittering star on her chest, while the world fell apart and came back together around them. She didn’t vanish. Didn’t disappear as she did in his worst dreams. 

Maybe this _was_ a nightmare. Peggy alive—not his Peggy.

But even though he knew he wasn’t her Steve, though he knew it was ridiculous to let himself hope—

He put out his hand. 

“Captain Steve Rogers, Ma’am.”

—he would take his chances, anyways.

The woman who was almost-not-quite-Peggy glanced down at his outstretched hand, absentmindedly reaching out to catch a passing Mjolnir with her shield arm. Her expression, at once familiar and foreign, was calculating. 

Steve waited, heart threatening to hammer itself free of his chest. If measured, he knew he would be found wanting—but his life might be numbered in hours, minutes, now, as it had been when he was stick-thin and starving. He’d never had a surplus of time, but he’d demand it from the universe, bet and bargain and steal if need be.

(“There’s always something more to lose, Cap. I thought you’d know _that_ , by now.”

“I’ll let you know when I hit rock bottom, then, Stark.”

“You’re a piece of work, Rogers.”)

Tony had been right. Steve knew it then, and knew it now. There was always something more to lose. But always—in the moment before he pitched out of the Quinjet’s carrier, lay in Howard Stark’s machine waiting for the serum, squared up to a bully from Brooklyn or Outer Space— _always,_ there was something to gain. 

The math must’ve added up, because a moment ~~another lifetime~~ later, a warm, calloused palm met his, the grip strong enough to match his own. 

“Captain Margaret Carter,” she said. There was a spark in her expression. Not quite hope, but it thawed the ice in Steve’s heart all the same. 

The odds were usually stacked against Steve Rogers. Good thing he’d never let that stand in his way. 

“Pleased to meet you, Captain Carter.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> :D Thanks for reading!
> 
> Have I had a few follow-up post-endgame plot bunnies running amok in my head? Perhaps.  
> Do I have a very complex Captain Carter AU planned, based on that one great tumblr post where Peggy & Steve's roles are flipped? Who can say.  
> Am I a huge fan of the WWThreesome tag, with a burning desire to contribute to it? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> I know I tried some wacky narrative things here, any con/crit or feedback on how it worked is welcome!


End file.
